


Choosing You

by Stacig



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, New Year's Eve, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stacig/pseuds/Stacig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Greg spend New Year's Eve together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was started as a fill for the following prompt on the Sherlock BBC kink meme.
> 
> John/Lestrade  
> "I would choose you, you know. If you asked me to. If you let me."
> 
> http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=123322351

It was New Year’s eve, the first since Sherlock’s death, and John had planned to spend it alone. He’d spent Christmas with Harry, recently sober once more and trying hard to distract herself by pretending that everything was fine in the world, and their Uncle Albert, their mother’s brother who had disapproved of John since his decision to join the army in order to pay for his medical schooling. After that experience, John had wanted to avoid all further holiday-related contact.

Harry’s cheer had grated on John, reminding him only of how not-perfect his life was since Sherlock’s death, and Albert’s constant criticism of the military and war in general made John want to explain in graphic detail exactly how his uncle didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. The day had been emotionally exhausting and at the end John had been happy only that he likely wouldn’t have to see either of them until Easter.

So for New Year’s he had planned to spend the evening alone, eat takeaway Thai, read for a couple of hours and then go to bed well before midnight. When Greg Lestrade had called earlier in the day and invited John over for beer and a movie the voice at the back of John’s head that sounded remarkably like his therapist had told him that spending time with friends was healthier than holing himself up in his flat and that Greg likely needed the company even more than John.

After last year's disastrous Christmas party, Greg's marriage had rapidly fallen apart. He and his wife had finalized their divorce in May and since then John knew his friend had been profoundly lonely. He had his kids every second weekend, but without them around everyday, he didn’t know how to fill the hours when he wasn't at work. John had tried to be there for him through the summer and fall and since Sherlock’s death Greg had taken John out to the pub to help him forget more than once. If Greg wanted John to come over so that neither of them had to be alone, then he couldn’t find it in himself to deny his friend the company.

So John had shown up at Greg’s with beer and takeaway Thai and the two had settled down on Greg’s couch to watch some action movie. Boring and predictable Sherlock would have called it, and ‘can’t I dissect the liver Molly gave me last Friday instead of watching this drivel?’, but John liked it well enough and Greg seemed happy to have company. It was certainly more fun than spending Christmas with Harry and uncle Albert.

The movie finished predictably enough. Greg switched off the telly and turned to look at John. The look on his face was considering, evaluating John in some way, and much too serious.

“What?” John asked eventually as the look went on for longer than was strictly comfortable.

“He would have hated that,” Greg said and nodded towards the telly.

“Sherlock? He pretty much hated all telly, well except for the news and then only the ‘interesting’ bits about murders and such.”

Greg let out a huff of laughter and smiled slightly. “He was different after he met you. More grounded, less …, well not less rude, but less deliberately cruel.”

John nodded. He opened another beer and took a long drink as he pondered Greg’s words. Sherlock had been a great man, but he had been misunderstood. Even worse, he had misunderstood the people and the world around him. He had known them, their likes, dislikes, personal habits and actions more intimately than parents or lovers or even the people themselves, but he hadn’t understood why they did the things they did. He’d had virtually no connection to the emotional reality of the world.

“You know, he thought he had no friends. It was total bollocks, of course. You knew him for years. Cared enough about him to help get him clean and give him a reason to stay that way. And Mrs. Hudson loved him like her own son, certainly put up with more from him than anyone but a mother would have. But he didn’t get it, couldn’t get it.”

“Hmm,” Greg mumbled what seemed like an acknowledgment of John’s words. “He was a giant berk, but I guess that was the price of his genius. At least I never needed to worry about the drugs after you moved in.”

“He knew it was the one thing that would make me leave for certain. I told him that the first day I moved in and, surprisingly, or maybe not, he believed me without question. He was dangerous enough sober.”

“That he was,” Greg agreed with a smirk. He raised his beer in a toast to the other man and both he and John took a drink. 

When he lowered his beer, John grinned as he thought of experiments gone awry, body parts in the fridge and Sherlock shooting up the walls in boredom. Almost suddenly he realized that the aching tightness at the back of his throat that normally accompanied thoughts of Sherlock was missing. For the first time since the man’s death he was able to think about him, to recall him with a friend and not feel the deep aching emptiness he had left in John’s life.

“Look,” Greg said after several moments of easy silence as they both thought of their friend. “I know it’s none of my business. And everyone always assumed whatever they wanted, but you and Sherlock, was there something there?”

The question snapped John out of his memories. He laughed sharply and took another pull on his beer before answering. “He was my best friend, but I know that’s not what you’re asking. I won’t lie to you, there was an attraction. And the way he never seemed to allow me to get through more than one date in a row without interrupting it somehow made me think he felt something too. I tried to speak with him about it, but no. In the end he had the work. He chose it as much as it chose him. He was convinced that he didn’t need anything else.”

Greg nodded, blinked slowly and then seemed to come to a decision. “I would choose you, you know. If you asked me to. If you let me.”

“I …,” John started and then his brain stuttered to a halt, seeming to catch up with what Greg had said. “What?”

Greg stared at John for a couple seconds and then drew in a shaky breath and swiped his hand across his face. "Bloody hell, I think I drank more than I should have." He put his half full beer bottle down on the coffee table and slumped back into the couch. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said ..."

"No," John cut him off. "It's okay. I just didn't expect ..., well that. I had no idea you fancied me."

"Yeah, have for a while. I never meant to say anything, though. There was Sherlock, and well you've said it enough times so I know you're not gay."

John's brain was buzzing away and with the alcohol in his system he was having a hard time keeping up. Greg was a good mate. He was a good man who had been used horribly by someone who was supposed to love him and, yes, choose him over everyone and everything else. He had been there for John through Sherlock's death and the fallout afterwards. He understood John and had never stopped believing in Sherlock even when it had placed his job on the line. 

And he was handsome. He had a pleasant face, bright eyes and a physique that suggested more than the occasional hour in the gym. It was something that John would have noticed only in passing before, but since meeting Sherlock and admitting, if only to himself, that it was possible for him to be attracted to men, it was something he could consider in a different light. The soft fluttering at the bottom of his stomach urged him forward.

He reached out gently and placed his hand on top of Greg's. "I would choose you too," John said softly, hoping to convey a deeper meaning; that Greg was worth choosing.

"John?"

John smiled softly and nodded. It was enough to encourage Greg. He leaned forward, reached out and placed his right hand on the side of John's face. His thumb ran across John's cheek, their eyes locked for a long moment and then Greg leaned in further and pressed his lips against John's. The kiss started slow and sweet, but quickly deepened as John relaxed into it.

This is it, he thought to himself. I'm kissing a man. Greg. And it's okay, normal even. Except, well, I don't think he's shaved since this morning and ...

Greg slipped his tongue into John's mouth. Through the window bright lights flashed in the sky and people cheered and it was the new year. New things all around, then. John smiled into the kiss, felt Greg's warm arms come around him and then lost himself in their own little world. 

New things indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

John woke to the sizzling sound and heavy smell of bacon cooking and immediately knew that he wasn't in his own flat. He sat up straight, pushed back the blanket covering him and surveyed his surroundings. He relaxed as he recognized the room. He was sitting on the couch in Greg's flat where he had apparently fallen asleep the night before. The sun was shining through the window so it was morning. It was warm and the bacon smelled lovely and Greg was humming to himself in the kitchen. Safe then, but ...

John froze suddenly and then reached up to touch his lips. They were still slightly puffy from the night before and he smiled to himself. He and Greg had made out on the couch like a couple of teenagers. John couldn't seem to get enough of the other man's lips or the taste of his mouth and Greg had seemed just as interested. They had both been aroused, pushing against each other, exploring with hands and lips. John had wondered exactly how far they were going to take it that night and then... he didn't remember anything else.

Had he fallen asleep on Greg? If so, how terribly embarrassing. John groaned loudly and cradled his forehead in his right hand. He had fallen asleep on his friend. In the middle of a make out session.

"John?" Greg called from the kitchen. He must have heard John's groan and realized that the other man had awoken.

"Morning," John called back.

Greg stepped out of the kitchen, looked over at John and smiled brightly. He crossed the room in several easy strides then leaned down and captured John's lips in a sweet kiss. "Good morning," he replied as he pulled away.

John smiled softly, obviously Greg was more than happy to see him, and then flushed. "Sorry about falling asleep last night."

If anything Greg smiled deeper at John's words. "We were both tired and it was late. It was kind of sweet, actually."

"Sweet?" John asked and wrinkled his nose. He was an ex-Army Captain, he was tough and capable and brave. He was not sweet.

Greg laughed. "That you trust me enough to fall asleep with me practically lying on top of you."

"Maybe I was just that tired."

"John, I think we both know what you keep on your bedside table at home," Greg returned with a knowing look. 

"I don't know what you could be referring to."

"Right, and neither do I because if I did I would have to do something about it." Greg reached out for John's hand and then pulled John up and toward the kitchen. "Breakfast should be ready."

Once in the kitchen, Greg grabbed a couple of plates and then served up eggs and bacon. He poured cups of tea for both of them. Then led John over to the small dining area and sat down at the table, Greg on John's left.

"Thanks, it's been," John paused for a moment to think how long it had been since someone had cooked breakfast for him and then shrugged slightly when he couldn't remember, "well a long long time since anyone made me breakfast."

"It's nothing special," Greg replied, "but I figured we could both use it. So, what are your plans for today?"

"Hmm, not much," John said with a shrug between bites of egg. "I need to get some laundry done and I should take a nap this afternoon. I'm on night shift for the next week."

"Ah, yes, the hospital," Greg said with a nod. "How's that going?" 

After less than a month in Harry's guest room, John had returned to Baker Street. It had been strange at first, being there without the constant whirlwind that was Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson had cleared the kitchen and tidied the rest of the flat and that had helped, but still it had taken weeks for it to feel right and he had almost left more than once. In the end, though, it was home, the only real one that he had known since joining the army being shipped out the first time, and so he had stayed. 

Staying, however, had presented challenges of the monetary variety. While the two of them had managed to save a small amount of money from the cases they had taken, John couldn't deny that he had no steady income and no possible way to pay both his and Sherlock's portions of the rent. The first of the month had come and gone in the time since the funeral, but their, no his, landlady hadn't said anything about it. When he had spoken to Mrs. Hudson she had told him that the regular payment had been made into her account and that she had assumed he'd made arrangements with Mycroft.

Several days and an angry confrontation with Mycroft later, John had found out that Sherlock never had paid their rent. The payment to Mrs. Hudson had come out of his trust fund every month and God only knew what he had done with the money John had given him to cover what he had been told was half of the rent, but was actually closer to a quarter. Apparently, in the event of his death, Sherlock had asked Mycroft to arrange for the trust fund to continue paying the rent for as long as John chose to live in their flat. So Mycroft had simply allowed the payments to continue and had chosen to not say anything to John.

John had been touched and angry all at the same time. Of course Sherlock would make a grand gesture, but never say anything about it. Money had meant next to nothing to him, but then, except for the years he had been deep in his addiction and Mycroft had completely cut him off, he never had to live without it. John, in contrast, had grown up in near poverty and had to join the RAMC as his only hope of paying for his post secondary education without taking on a truly terrifying amount of debt. Now, years later, he had his small pension, an infrequent locum position at the surgery and an expensive flat that he didn't want to leave.

Mycroft could not be convinced to discontinue the payments, but had, after a surprising amount of protest on the elder Holmes' part, agreed to cut the payment back to what actually was half of the rent. This had made John feel a little less like he was living off Mycroft's charity, but meant that he still needed to find a way to make up the other half. John had his pride, but also understood that affording the full rent at Baker Street would have been almost impossible, so, in the end, he couldn't even find it in him to be more angry with the cold bastard than he already was. 

At first he had taken on additional hours at the surgery to cover the expense, but three weeks of minor aches and pains, sniffly toddlers and a particularly virulent flu with no one calling him away to chase criminals or look at murder victims or just generally be an annoying pain in the arse had convinced him that he really wasn't cut out to be a full time GP. Out of desperation he had applied for a position in A&E at St. Thomas'. After weeks of the surgery, it had sounded like just what he needed. His interview had gone reasonably well, although John had feared he'd come off somewhat desperate to leave his current position, and three weeks later he had a new job and the first promise of excitement since Sherlock's death.

He'd been at the hospital for two months and it was working out better than he could have hoped. A&E was a constant challenge and on certain nights it was almost as thrilling as the front line, although without people shooting at him or the other doctors, which had always been the most unpleasant part anyhow.

"It's been good," John told him. "Sometimes it's slow, but most of the time it's so busy that I can barely catch my breath. It's what I needed after the war and, well, Sherlock."

"Adrenalin junkie," Greg muttered under his breath. 

His eyes flicked up and caught John's. John frowned at first, but he couldn't help himself and his mouth slowly melted into a smirk. He snorted and Greg responded with a brilliant smile and a laugh of his own.

"Maybe," John agreed, "but it keeps my mind busy and I'm often so exhausted by the end of my shift that all I want to do is crawl into bed. It really is what I needed."

"I know it's been hard for you."

John sighed and pushed back from the table. "I miss him. He was my best friend. We worked together and lived together and basically did everything together. I, well I loved him, as much as he would allow me to, anyhow. And now he's gone and I'm right pissed at him. How could he do that to me, to us? But there's no answer, there never will be an answer, so all I can do is go forward."

"I know, and I'm sorry I haven't been around more."

"You've been around when you can, Greg. You have an important job and you've had a hard year as well."

"I do want to be there for you, though," Greg insisted. "If you want that too."

John smiled softly. "Yeah, I guess we should talk about that." He reach out and placed his hand on top of Greg's. The other man's hand was warm and softer than John had expected. Greg turned it over slowly until they were clasping hands and he squeezed John's in encouragement.

"I never knew. You were married, so I just assumed..."

"That I was straight? I've always been flexible," Greg admitted with a shrug. "When I was younger, I mostly dated men, but then I fell in love with Kate. I knew I wanted a family and it seemed like my chance at that. It was good in the beginning and easier being a young married PC than the bent bloke in the department. I believe in monogamy, so I never would have said anything while I was married. But, it never meant that I didn't notice the good looking guys."

"So you... me?"

"Yeah," Greg agreed with a nod. "And Sherlock, too. Even though he was a git, he was still a beautiful git."

John's eyes widened and then he laughed deeply. "God, it's been so long since I've been able to think about him and not hurt. It's good."

Greg shifted his chair so that he was closer to John and their shoulders were touching. "I'm glad. I know it's hard to lose someone, and Sherlock, well it was all such a mess."

Greg ran his thumb over the back of John's knuckles, neither of them saying anything for several moments. "I like you, John. You're a good man, a good friend. I'd like to see if there's a possibility for something more between us, but I don't want to sacrifice our friendship if you don't feel the same."

John nodded. "And I've always liked you, Greg," he started. "I was never attracted to men before, but then there was Sherlock. And maybe it was because he was unattainable, safe, but it got me to accept that it was a possibility. And last night. Well, I'd never thought of you that way but now that I have, I can't seem to stop. I don't want to stop." John felt a deep flush cover his face as he admitted the last.

Greg smiled widely. "I don't want you to stop either."

"So we're going to try this?"

"Yes," Greg agreed.

He leaned over to drop a kiss on John's lips and John pressed back against him eagerly. Greg's hand slipped down from the table to rest on John's leg. John reached out for Greg's shoulder to pull the other man closer. The kiss deepened quickly and John moaned into it.

It felt amazing. Maybe it was the friendship they already had, but John felt a closer connection to Greg than he had to any of the girlfriends he'd had since coming back to London. His stomach clenched and fluttered and his whole body felt flush in anticipation. The kiss went on for several minutes, lips and tongues meeting and sliding together, wet and soft and so good.

Greg's hand slipped up further on John's leg and John gasped into Greg's mouth. His trousers pulled tight across his lap and he squirmed in his seat. It was deliciously uncomfortable.

Greg pulled back slightly and looked at John. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," John panted. "I... I'm good."

"You are," Greg agreed. He nipped at John's lips and squeezed his thigh, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to John's prick. John tried to laugh and gasp at the same time and it came out alarmingly close to a high pitched whine.

"So you know," Greg told him as he continued to nip at John's lips, "If you stay, I'm going to take you to my bed."

"O... okay," John agreed between kisses.

"Good," Greg growled. He clasped John's hand, pulled him up out of his chair and led him down the hall towards the bedroom. 

Inside his bedroom, Greg pushed John up against the wall, covering his shorter frame and pressing urgently against him. Their pricks slid together and, for a moment, John's world focused down to that one sensation.

"Greg," John gasped, and, "please." He wasn't entirely sure what he was asking for, except that Greg wouldn't stop anytime soon. It was ridiculous, because John had always been in control of these sorts of encounters with women, but with Greg it was different. Greg was all sharp angles and coiled strength. He knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it and John surprised himself by being more than willing to follow wherever the other man was leading.

Greg made a sound low in his throat and then easily turned the two of them around and lifted John up onto the bed. He moved them up the length of the mattress, pushing pillows and covers out of the way as they went.

He pulled John's jumped off over his head and then helped him unbutton the shirt he wore underneath. As John shrugged out of the shirt, Greg's eyes settled on his shoulder and the starburst scar that marred it. He stilled for a moment and then reached out to run tender fingers over the puckered flesh. 

"I always knew you'd been sent home because of an injury," Greg said. "This was it?"

"Yes and no," John told him. "When I was shot it shattered my scapula. We were out in the open and still taking fire. The guys dragged me to cover. I was bleeding a lot and they ended up shoving whatever they could find into the wound to get it to stop. I don't really remember that part, but my shoulder became badly infected afterwards. It took months to heal and I lost my fine motor control."

"I'm sorry," Greg whispered then leaned down and kissed the scar. His fingers trailed around the back of John's shoulder and found the smaller entrance wound there.

"It's... it's okay. Well maybe not, but I always knew it could happen. But that's not why I was discharged; there's plenty of doctoring I could have done even with my injury. It was the limp that bought me my discharge."

"Limp?" Greg asked.

"You don't remember? When we first met I was walking with a limp, had a cane and everything. It was psychosomatic, PTSD. A day or so with Sherlock seemed to fix most of that. I missed the war, the danger, the feeling that I had something valuable to contribute."

As John continued to speak, Greg pressed kisses across his shoulder and along his collarbone. "My brave soldier," Greg said, his lips moving against John's skin. His hands moved down across John's chest, running along the ridges of his muscles and settling at his waist. He pushed himself up and sat back so he was sitting with his arse resting on John's upper thighs. "You're gorgeous."

John flushed. "I am not."

"You let me be the judge of that," Greg insisted. 

John huffed softly but didn't otherwise respond. If either of them was gorgeous it was certainly Greg. John was mostly average looking and he knew it. He wasn't ugly and his friendly personality had certainly helped him pull women in the past, but he had no illusions of being anything more than modestly handsome.

Greg started to pull off his own shirt then and John reached up to help him. He had a shock of salt and pepper hair on his chest and John trailed his fingers through it. It was an unusual, but, he realized, not unwelcome sight on his partner. The hair was soft and slightly curled and underneath it, Greg had some nice muscles that his clothes had only hinted at. John's fingers slid over to a nipple and Greg groaned deep in his throat. John smiled to himself and pinched softly at the little nub.

"John," Greg growled and then leaned down again to take John's mouth in a demanding kiss. 

Greg kissed along John's jaw and then down his neck. He moved lower and licked then bit each of John's nipples in turn. John gasped and bucked beneath him. He pressed his groin up against Greg, trying to get more friction against his straining prick. Greg chuckled softly and then continued his slow exploration of John's chest. He laved John's nipples with the flat of his tongue and bit at them for several more minutes before moving down to kiss John's stomach.

Sure fingers worked their way into the front of John's trousers and gently cupped him through his pants. John gasped and pressed up into the warm hand around him. He could feel Greg smile against his stomach and John smiled in return. A warm feeling flooded through him and in that moment he knew without a doubt that he really could love this man. It wouldn't take much at all, the basis was there in the friendship they already shared. Then Greg suddenly had John's trousers and pants off and was licking at the head of his prick and John stopped thinking of anything else.

Greg licked and sucked at the head, his lips gently pulling John into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. John groaned and bucked up. Greg chuckled gently and framed John's hips with his strong hands, pushing him slightly into the mattress to restrict his movement. Greg slowly bobbed up and down the length of John's prick and soon enough the head was brushing against the back of Greg's throat. It felt amazing and it had been so long since anyone had done this for him. His fingers curled into Greg's short hair and he tried desperately to hold on, to draw out his orgasm.

"Greg," John gasped. "Oh God, I'm close, I'm gonna ..."

In response Greg swallowed John slightly deeper into the back of his throat and hummed softly. It was all too much and John felt himself slipping over the edge. His prick pulsed hot and thick into Greg's mouth and Greg swallowed greedily. John's mind drifted on a wave of pleasure and the next thing he knew, Greg had crawled back up the bed and was kissing him deeply. The taste of John's own come and Greg's unique flavour mingled in their mouths. Greg's trousers and pants had disappeared in the haze of John's orgasm and he was grinding into the hollow of John's hip next to his spent prick.

John reached down and wrapped his hand around Greg. He'd never touched another man's prick in a sexual manner, but it was unsurprisingly like touching himself. He stroked Greg several times and then tightened his fist into a tight channel around his length. Greg thrust hard into John's hand and John's mind briefly flashed to what it might feel like for Greg to thrust into another part of his body. John shivered with that thought just as Greg tumbled into his own release. He came in several shockingly hot splashes across John's stomach. It felt like he was being marked and John found that he liked it much more than he would have expected.

With a sigh, Greg rolled off him and flopped down on his back. He reached for a tissue from the bedside table and wiped at John's stomach. "Come here," he said once he had finished. He tugged at John until the smaller man had turned over onto his side and stomach and was cuddled into Greg's side. Greg reached over and pulled the covers over both of them. He stroked John's cheek gently and bent his head down for a kiss.

John smiled and snuggled into Greg's embrace. He ran his fingers lightly over his lover's chest and felt the other man shiver under his touch. Greg's fingers carded through his hair. John closed his eyes and felt himself start to drift. This certainly wasn't what he had expected when he had come over to spend New Years' with his friend, but it wasn't unwelcome either. In fact, he had a feeling that it could be very, very good for both of them.


End file.
